


smile when you hand the lighter back

by TakeAStepOut (Falterbehind)



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, M/M, PWP, Smoking, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23630311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falterbehind/pseuds/TakeAStepOut
Summary: Sol’s back alley encounter with a man all angles and sharp teeth.
Relationships: Cornelius Hickey/Sgt Solomon Tozer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	smile when you hand the lighter back

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies in advance for all the commas, s/o to @teapig for the cheerleading and Emmy for not being too mean about the whole thing

It’s more than a little cheeky, really. Crass, he’d go as far as to say. He glances down at the lighter in his palm, takes a drag and considers everything, weighing out options. Most likely it’s a joke, novelty lighter given a gift and used out of desperation.  _ ‘If you want to fuck, smile when you give this lighter back’.  _ Bold, regardless.

_ What the fuck _ , he figures, tosses it once and catches it neatly, hands the lighter back.

Sol smiles. 

It’s a nasty habit, smoking. His mother always warned him off, tar in the lungs and cancer in the mouth. It’s his only vice, not counting drinks with the lads on Friday nights. He breathes in deep, another disappointment to his mother, God rest her soul, meets the eyes that pair with the wicked smile and quick hands pocketing the lighter. 

It’s been a while, he thinks, contemplating the man next to him. All angles and edges, languid and loose and at ease now that he knows he’s won. Not a gimmick after all. The end of his cigarette glows, he flicks the ash and lets it burn down to his fingers unsmoked, insolent tip to his chin. Not eager; expectant. 

It’s all artifice, a carefully arranged charade Sol only sees now that he’s stumbled too far in. Not that it matters, not that it changes his mind. If he wants he can duck back inside the doors, back to the show to become yet another sweating body in a crowd.

He doesn’t want to. 

“Use that trick a lot?” Sol asks, half curiosity and half need to fill the thick silence of the night air. 

The slash of a mouth grins, cheeks dimpling, hands pressing into pockets. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Not enough to ask twice. Sol lets the cigarette butt fall from his hand, grinds it under his heel into the cobbles. The air is cold, damp, enough that his fingertips find the man’s neck a shock of burning flesh. Sol’s mouth is an echo of an ashtray; he hardly envies him the taste, kisses him anyway. 

It’s hard, aggressive, hands twisting into hair and back hitting up against rough brick. There’s no pretense to it now, now that the short lived chase is done with. There’s teeth in his lip, blunted nails where chill fingers have found their way under his shirt. 

Sol tips his head back, hair catching against the brick wall, breath misting in the air. “Yours or mine?” 

The stranger makes a face, a midpoint between  _ alley’s not good enough for you?  _ and consideration, eyes glittering in the dark. Rocks back on his heels, cocks his head.

“Reckon mine’s closer.” He steps back properly, giving Sol back his own space. It feels like an allowance, a permittance. He follows him out of the alley regardless, a fire low and burning. 

“What’s your name?” He asks when they pause to unlock the door to a small flat, tucked into a side road off of a side road. It feels disjointed, an encounter with things done all out of order. The paint on the door is peeling. There’s a planter with flowers on the step, and Sol wonders if it’s his. Doesn’t care enough to ask, shuffles his feet. 

The hand on the key stills, the body turns, the face grins. “Cornelius.” The eyes flick over Sol, a question and appraisal. A gesture two cigarettes too late. 

“Solomon.”

The door opens, they spill into warm air and onto worn carpet, already a tangle before the door is even fully shut behind. 

It’s a frenzy of teeth and tongues and hands pulling shirts over heads. Cornelius’ mouth is electric, spellbinding as he pins Sol to the wall. Sol groans, feels a smirk against his skin, a thigh between his own. Cornelius is all calculated movements, momentum swinging from touch to touch, step to step, landing Sol flat on his back. Bed springs prod at his shoulder bones as Cornelius settles on top of his hips, all hands and hot mouth on hotter skin. 

He grinds down, slow, and Sol moans, hands already reaching to undo belts and buttons. 

“Eager,” Cornelius says, pleased, as Sol pants out another breath, busied hands now still. “What shall we do with you, hm, Solomon?”

Sol whines, needy, wanting. Cornelius grins, wraps a hand around Sol’s length. It’s not quite tight enough, fast enough, and Sol can tell Cornelius knows this; sees it in his eyes. He’s too pinned down to buck his hips; he knows Cornelius knows this too. 

“Messy already,” Cornelius tuts, smears the pad of his thumb through a bead of precum and Sol’s moan is half-frustration. That smug smile is back and he leans forward, breath ghosting Sol’s ear. “What do you want, Solomon?”

He groans, full frustration now, voice thin with need, “Fuck me.” It’s meant to sound commanding; it doesn’t. 

Cornelius kisses him, sloppy and fast, half teeth, the answer still half in Sol’s mouth. There’s the sound of a bottle flicking open, just out of sight. Cornelius’ weight and mouth slip away as he settles between Sol’s thighs. A lube coated finger circles his hole once, teasing, before pushing in. 

Sol gasps, breath hitching in his throat, head thrown back as Cornelius works him open.

“Is that all? I think we can do better than that,” Cornelius teases, adds a second finger. Sol sees him smile through half-lidded eyes when he moans, bites his lip. “There it is; sound so pretty for me, Sol.”

“ _ Fuck _ .”

Cornelius hums, crooks his fingers just so, smiles at the whine ripped from Sol’s throat. By the time the third slips in he’s moaning shamelessly, fucking himself on Cornelius’ hand, sheets crumpled in his fists. 

“Look at you, hmm? Ready for more?” He pulls out his fingers, reaching for the condom waiting ready on the duvet. Sol cries out at the loss, the sudden emptiness. 

“Please?” He begs, rapt as Cornelius rolls the condom onto himself, unable to take his eyes off the flushed-pink cock. 

“Since you asked so pretty,” Cornelius replies, adds a little more lube, lines himself up. The blunt head of his prick presses against Sol’s hole and he makes a high, needy sound in his throat.

“Impatient, aren’t we?”

Sol narrows his eyes, opens his mouth to dispute it, and Cornelius pushes in, slow and smooth. The words in Sol’s mouth transform into a low, sweet groan, original phrase lost in translation.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he chokes out, feeling stretched, full. They stay like that for a spell, a moment in stasis as Sol adjusts. 

“C’mon,” he grumbles, squirms. 

“ _ Impatient,”  _ Cornelius repeats, smug, complies to watch Sol bite his lip and thrash his head against the pillow. 

Cornelius sets a fast rhythm, measured, calculated; it has Sol keening with each thrust, gasping, digging fingernails into Cornelius’ back. He adjusts minutely, slight change in angle, each thrust brushing Sol’s prostate. 

“Cornelius,” he manages, urgently between gasps, eyes wild. 

“You close, Sol?” Cornelius’ voice sounds ragged now, not the high-polished facade it was. Still enough in control to temper the tone. Solomon nods, almost too far gone to speak. “Say it for me, Sol.”

A long moment stretches out, punctuated by Sol’s gasps. “‘Gonna cum,” he finally pants, then cries out as Cornelius takes him in hand again, expertly this time. It’s not long, three, four, strokes and he’s over the edge with a curse falling from his lips as Cornelius fucks him through it, chasing his own end.

When his bones are re-solidified again Cornelius is tossing a damp washcloth at him, soft, blue cotton that he wipes his stomach and chest down with. He tosses it god only knows where; doesn’t care to look and find out. 

Cornelius sits in the edge of the bed already half dressed, cigarette already trailing smoke in the corner of his mouth. Offers him a sharp smile, a cigarette, a lighter. Sol accepts. He lights it, breathes it in and tastes the ash on his teeth and tongue. Hands back the lighter. 

Sol smiles. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading xoxo


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